


Cold

by DittyWrites



Series: Gotham Rogues Drabbles [16]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Gen, Mild Angst, Self-Reflection, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12723678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: A very short reflective piece involving Waylon Jones AKA Killer Croc





	Cold

Pulling the collar of his hooded sweatshirt tighter around his throat, Waylon Jones bared his elongated teeth against the chill as he brought the large cup of coffee he had stolen from a nearby vendor to his lips. The warmth of the steaming liquid provided a momentary relief he was grateful for and, exhaling quietly, he sipped away at it.

His scaled skin was hidden from the public view by his over-sized hoodie and an unusually large pair of gloves which shielded his hands from any prying eyes while the fading sunlight combined with his hood to provide enough shadows to keep the unnatural shape and reptilian features of his face from being too exposed.

Despite these clothings and the natural defense which his condition gave him against the Gotham weather, he was surprised to find that the feeling of cold which had driven him from his lair was still affecting him. The freezing sensation had been bothering him for several days and it had reached a stage where it appeared to have seeped through his skin and was now existing in his very bones. The unyielding potency of it was beginning to concern him.

He was not in a position to develop an illness at this time.

Trudging his feet along the boardwalk, he concentrated on holding his cup with one gloved hand while the other rubbed at his neck, attempting to generate some heat and provide himself with a little comfort. If he fell ill, he would be at the mercy of his own immune system until whatever he had contracted passed. The vague thought of attracting attention to himself and allowing the authorities or even the Bat to throw him back into Arkham passed through his mind, the temptation of free warmth and healthcare calling to him, but was just as quickly dismissed.

Better free than locked up.

Always.

A few steps ahead of him, a young couple with clasped hands were practically skipping across the wooden slats as they chatted animatedly and from their expressions and movements, it was clear that they were suffering from no illusion of cold or chill. As the woman leaned up to whisper something in her companions ear, he twisted his head so that he could catch her lips in a short but relatively sweet kiss causing her to blush and slap at his shoulder in jest.

As he stared at the couple, the feeling of ice within his gut sharpened with such an intensity that his body instinctively hunched forward to combat it. Frowning, he forced himself to straighten up again and actively tried to ignore the physicality of the feeling while his mind raced to determine the cause.

This wasn’t illness.

This was something else.

He eyes flicked to the couple again as they continued to giggle and dance their way towards their destination and Waylon again felt the jarring shift of the chill.

With a clarity which he could never have anticipated, the answer hit him.

It was  _loneliness._


End file.
